


Radiation Baby

by atomicplatter666



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-10
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-08-08 00:20:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7735588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atomicplatter666/pseuds/atomicplatter666
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A mushroom cloud hangs over my dreams<br/>It haunts my future and threatens my schemes<br/>Peace, peace, peace, where did you go?</p><p>-Mushroom Cloud (Sammy Salvo)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I kind of have no idea where this is going yet...to be quite real here

War. War never changes.

 

         The newspaper articles lying through their teeth, the smiles that just barely hide the terrified looks of fear. The recruitment of people away from their homes, their families, their lives. The blood that stains the hands of those who make billions of dollars from it.

         The horrifying, unspoken deeds committed. The violence within and without.

 

War...it never did change.

 

 

 

 

         It was like any other fall day, coming home after another day at the studio. I groaned, rolling my head around and massaging my shoulders. The equipment had been heavy that day, just like any other. What a fucking day. Finally, I could curse with no director to yell at me. As I neared my street, I realized that someone was following me, quietly, from a distance. I made a turn as soon as I could, and kept making turns til I nearly lost direction myself. Somehow, I shook them off, and walked back to my house.

         As soon as I got home I took off my tweed jacket, hanging it on the coat rack, and kicked off my shoes. Some neighborhood children ran past in the street playing ball. I turned away, ruffling my hair as I walked over to the kitchen to pour myself a cup of chamomile tea. The slightly bitter taste soothed me as I bounced into my stained armchair, kicking my feet up onto the coffee table. Who the fuck was following me? Was it some Government agent? I wasn't surprised they'd shown up, but it wasn't as though I'd done anything of note. Or planned to.

 

         I turned the knob on the television, paying no attention to the all-too-familiar blather of the comedian. Turning on the set was a ritual at this point; watching it reminded me of work. In a way, it was a sort of background music. I slurped more of my tea, savoring the feeling of the vapor on my tired face. The doorbell rang suddenly, to which I answered with a snarling, "Who is it?"

"Vault-Tec, madam!"

         Fuck. That goddamned big corporation. Didn't trust 'em then, don't trust 'em now. It was the 10th time this specific man had come knocking so I decided to chase him away for good. The 52-year-old wood creaked beneath my socks. I'd slipped on this so many times. I cracked open the door just a tad.

         "Hey fella, you oughta buzz off. I don't care what you're trying to sell me."

         "Well, madam, if you want to protect yourself and your family in the event of a nuclear attack…," there it was again. Family. Everyone was so damn obsessed with it. I couldn't have been more indifferent.

         I'd politely resisted every attempt my mother had made to suggest a husband. I'm fine. She knew who I am, she knew my old partners, but still she wanted me to marry a man. I had sympathy for her, though, since Father's grave was still settling in the ground. Still, it was as if she didn't know me at all.

         "Sorry, not interested."

         "You've been selected to enter a Vault! Congratulations!"

         "What?"

         "If you just sign these papers, you can enter the Vault-Tec certified underground vault whenever disaster strikes. For free!"

         I sighed. _Won't he leave already? If I just sign the damn thing will he go away? Work was too long for this bullshit. I guess any sort of information I'd put on here isn't new to anybody anyway. Hell, my job's practically public domain._ I massaged the bridge of my nose, as if my glasses had been there. _The world_ does _seem like it's ending, hell._

         "Fine. Now shut up and hand me the clipboard."

 

 

          I picked up today's newspaper, sighing as I sunk into the yellow plush of my chair. Finally, I could relax. I picked up my comrades' paper, enjoying the newsprint crinkling softly in my hands as I turned the pages.  Turns out that the news isn't ever a great way to relax. It spoke about the army, the war…  not much in the way of uplifting stories. At least someone is still making these things despite the crackdowns. I got up and headed to the bedroom to change to my house-clothes _. If I made my political convictions known, who knows what would --_

        My train of thought was abruptly cut off by the realization that the raucous laughter of the audience had suddenly gone dead quiet. I looked up at the screen _._ Loud beeps sounded, and the program cut to a dark-haired man in a suit sitting in front of a long desk. _The newsman? Is something happening?_

"There have been…reports…of blinding flashes. Sounds of explosions… We're trying to…to get confirmation…however…"

       My heart sank to the bottom of my stomach, running in place there against my waist _. Does that mean bombs?_ I knew the War wouldn't just go on forever, that some big move would be made by the States or the Chinese. But I didn't really think about it. The Chinese were bound to get sick of us at some point, and I didn't entirely blame them for it. Still, reality felt like a smack on the cheek.

         "What the hell?" Somehow, _fuck_ didn't feel strong enough. The words coming from my own mouth sounded foreign, as if another person had spoken them. "Shit, I never actually prepared --"

         I suddenly realized I had been lost in my own head, lost in the television waves. I was harshly brought back to reality by the wails of earpiercing sirens, and the screams of my neighbors as they ran towards the vault or to their respective vehicles. There was no time. I had to go. What a twist of fate that the Vault-salesman had stopped by today.

       I only got my shoes halfway on as I ran like hell out the door, and followed the neighborhood swarm into the woods. I assumed that everyone was running towards the Vault, which the presence of towering military men proved. I swallowed my breath and tried to focus on survival as my brain automatically reminded me of as many military abuses and atrocities as it could. I felt as though their eyes were piercing my skin, watching my every move. These thoughts still ended up distracting me, and I almost tripped when I stumbled into some rocks lodged in the dirt path. I quickly regained my balance and arrived at the fence.

 

... 

 

       My head hurts. That must be what woke me. My joints are screaming for freedom, down in the armrests where I left them. My muscles feel taut when I move my arms, flexing my fingers. The Vault suit is too thin -- I shiver faintly at the coldness enveloping me. It also feels too tight. Did I gain some weight while I was depressurizing? I try to wiggle, with only moderate success. My eyes feel like they're stuck together, but somehow I manage to force them open.  My decontamination capsule's window is blue, frosted with little spiky clusters. No wonder I'm so damn cold.

         I look around. My neighbors are all sound asleep in their decompression pods. Looks like theirs are frosted too. I must have an independently fucked up sleep schedule if I'm the only one awake, which is unsurprising. Late studio nights can do that.  Or maybe everyone's tired. But wait…why is there no one checking up on us? Weren't there doctors and army fucks who were hanging out outside?

         I try to run through what might be happening. Maybe I should find and ask someone what to do next? I don't know what depressurization is exactly but I certainly feel like I'm not pressurized. Maybe I can get out. I raise my still-aching arms up to the window of the depressurization chamber and push, my palms slipping on the cold glass. I try to yell out for someone, but my throat is parched. Not a sound escapes my throat, and I wind up coughing instead.

         Getting out looks impossible, at least until someone comes. Underneath the humming of machinery, I can now hear _something_ …footsteps, it looks like. They're approaching. A chance for freedom? A besuited man appears from my right, speaking to a woman in creepily sterile-looking clothing. My fists stop an inch from the inside of the window when I realize that they both carry _guns_. Something isn't right. The duo walks past my pod, speaking in hushed tones. I strain to hear them, but my attempts are futile; the machinery is too close to me and too loud. Shifting in my seat, I try to lean towards them to see what's happening, but they're too far. After what feels like hours, they turn back to where they came from, activating some machinery. To my relief, something they did triggers my release.

 


	2. Awakening

I blink, and realize I have finally fully woken up, taking in lungfuls of fresh air. My mouth tastes stale, like when you've kept your mouth closed for too long. Ugh, my breath must smell horrendous if it tastes like this. The room is quiet save for the humming of the machines. It looks like everyone else is still...stuck. What kind of depressurization is this? When'd those creeps leave anyway? I never noticed them walk away.

I shrug mentally and carefully step out of the pod, almost tripping on the apparatus.

"Hello? Anybody awake?" I am met with silence.

I go towards the terminal the two gun-toters had fiddled with. It whirrs to life, showing me its ugly, nearly blindingly bright green letters. _Who the fuck designed this?_ I marvel at the lack of safety precautions and unlock all the pods, but there's no movement. Shit.

 

Wait a minute. Weren't there Vault-Tec people all over this? Where'd they go? I warily step out of the depressurization-room into the hallway, shivering as I adjust to the slightly warmer hallway. 

"Heyyyy! Anyone?"

My voice is deadened by the sound-proof walls, sinking deep into the underground monster's metal bones. Every room I peek into or walk by is abandoned, or littered with a stray skeleton. Just what happened? How long had it been? I remember my local butcher and try not to think too much about the stains underneath the remains.

So many cabinets and trunks just _sitting_ there. I fight the impulse to loot everything within sight. There might still be people around.

 

...

 

I reminisce on my initial discoveries as I wandered the wastes. I'm reminded, for some reason, of a famous incident in Russia some time ago, where a whole group of skiiers died mysteriously, while one comrade remained alive by sheer luck. Is this, perhaps, how he felt? Wait, I wasn't really that close with my neighbors. He must have been much sadder. I shake my head to free myself of that thought and keep trudging on. Is it just the cryo-room I started in, or is it warmer out here?

 

Suddenly, a crackling sort of boom erupts in the distance.

 


End file.
